#◈ — ic; farkas

[augment-techs]

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Lucia, at some point as a teenager: So tell me, when exactly will I be allowed to hang out with boys?

Farkas: When I’m dead. Plus three days, just to make sure I’m dead.

[daandova]

catch, sender catches receiver by the waist after they bump into each other.

despite the light that emitted from her waist within steeled lantern , the cairn filled with inky shadows. a darkness that swallowed the candlelight only a few feet away. the perfect place to keep pieces of a once blade ─── something storied and ancient. it's also a good place for the undead to lurk in their dank crypts , waiting to be awoken. still , valvari can hear farkas trailing her as they creep , noting he's only a step behind so that she doesn't lose him. her footsteps soft to not rouse the restless draugrs. his with ever faint jingling of steel on steel.

the air is quiet around their movements , where only soft drips of condensation punctuate their breathing. it primes her to concentrate. places like these , she had explained to him before they entered , were LITTERED with ancient traps. if they were going to get back to the pack alive , it'd be best they move slowly. PURPOSEFULLY. and what was that ?? it could've been the shift in the flamelight. the shadows playing child's tricks on her eyes. but she stills , refusing to step on it.

and he doesn't.

the brunt of farkas's weight sends val flailing forward on what looked to be a rather suspiciously raised stone in the floor. this was it. crimson eyes close as the tiefling accepts whatever pain would send itself their way. ( the moment slowed to where she wondered if there was a spike trap she missed , or perhaps a divot in the ceiling that hid in the void of darkness so it could surprise them with blunt force of a stone. ) instead , something warm and stable roughly hoists her back against the strong of cool steel. then there they are , eyes trained on the floor as it dawns on the pair the holes in the walls were primed with rusted arrowheads to turn them into swiss eidar cheese. and instinctually , her tail wraps around the thick of her companion's leg to stabilize herself , as if he would suddenly release her without warning. around them , the cairn breath's a frustrated sigh. not this time. not tonight.

" by the eight. . . " it hasn't quite dawned on her that he hasn't let go. maybe because her adrenalined heart was still thrumming a bird in it's cage. " good reflexes [ . . . ] you could've sent me into next year with that brute force of yours. that'll come in handy. "

[cldhrbour]

“You make my heart beat so quick.” – from Farkas! - @decidentia

raucous laughter fills the hall. for those that weren't out on a job , and many who had just arrived home , the group of companions were enjoying a home cooked meal from tilma. on the end of the table, serana sat , leaning back rather casually on her hands while farkas stood before her. excitedly REGALING the tale of the hargarvens he'd just put down for terrorizing poor rorikstead. she'd had a rather toothy smile the entire time , his own demeanor infectious. enough so that she hadn't noticed how comfortably he'd settled between her legs that were dangling off the edge. nor the way his free hand - the one not pouring more ale into his mouth - had rested against her thigh , a thumb idly running back and forth.

when the cup was set down next to her , he seems unsure what to do with his now digits. not that it mattered , she was still smiling up at him with a look at could be described as ADMIRATION but peel back the layers of insecurity and maybe you'd find something else there instead. " oh i don't think it's me. . . " she chuckles at his confession. the words bouncing off of her like rain slipping down the leaves of a tree. " you've had quite a lot to drink. " a hand reaches up , patting his shoulder that was free of armor. " and you should. it sounds like you did a great thing today. i wish i'd been there. "

[decidentia]

I’ve been bursting with muse, but unable to get a moment to focus on writing. Luckily, I have no plans tomorrow – zero, zilch, nada, nothing – for the approx. four hours between my shift finishing and my pottery class starting. I plan to be here, be queer, and finally get some ic content out. 😤

[austerulous]

◈   @ariveth  //  cont.

Ariveth had wormed her way in, making him itch in places he could not scratch.  She knew his limits, his tender points, she knew how to get him to bare his teeth, to roll over, to show his belly.  Farkas would never deny her.  On some level, he understood the power she held, but still he could not help but bristle with anger, that fury hallmarked by a splintered ache at the centre of his chest.  Inside, the wolf was all fangs and raised hackles.  It showed in his manly form, it robbed of his coherence.

“Fuck off.” 

Predictably, following the pattern of their past disagreements, Ariveth leaned closer, unimpressed, unafraid of his fraying temper and the deepening scowl that darkened warpainted features.  Insufferable, inciteful woman – yet one stitched into his heart, laced in tender, sinuous feelings.  How quickly his anger spilled into something else, readily redirected by the elegant arch of her spine, the choreographed flutter of eyelashes.  His diseased blood already ran hot, each furious breath catching between his teeth.  Control fractured and, in that instant, he reached for her, seizing her by the jaw.  A growl emanated from somewhere deep in his chest, reverberating in his throat, as the callused pad of his thumb swiped furiously over Ariveth’s rude lips, resolve ruined by their sly softness, by her knowing smirk.

“Fuck.”

[daedriic]

❈ ❰❰ @austerulous ─ 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐀𝐒 // s.c. ❱❱

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ WELL, YOU'RE A TALL ONE, AREN'T YOU? ❞ He could be just what she needs to solve her current predicament. She'd come to Whiterun in disguise, passable as some dainty noblewoman; perfect for moving around in public without drawing unwanted attention. But it's a disguise that would be easily blown if she had to resort to violence. So why not have someone else handle that part for her? ❝ I could use some muscle. Care to help me with a little problem I'm having? I'll pay you well for your aid. ❞

[amplifying]

for @austerulous.

The afternoon sun gazed lazily upon Skyrim. Light tumbled betwixt branch after branch, leaf after leaf, leaving dabbled illuminance in its wake. That brilliant hue brought renewed life to the trees of yesteryear that laid sprawled upon the forest floor; knotted, gnarled remnants of their former glory. Trunks once a great girth now thinned, branches forming twisted patterns and starved of foliage. Carcasses of eggs scattered the surrounding dry nirn. Birdsongs came in lulls, then bursts, melodies woven betwixt silence serving to be as beautiful as any mortal songstress.

The forest spoke of life and death, how they gnashed each other’s tails and spun over and over—destined to be forever connected. It served to be sanctuary for both. Some hid from the evils of Tamriel beneath the watchful eyes of pine trees, while others lurked in that same trees’ shadow, whetting their blade with the spine of a rock.

Baptiste knew well both sides, for he’d partaken in both.

He’d opted to set up reluctant camp some ways in, make use of what materials he had left. Then, after ridding himself of whatever consumables that’d been forsaken in the pits of his satchels, he would replenish in the nearby Whiterun. As hands sought to pin down what goods actually lay squished, seated upon a fallen trunk that’d long since been kissed with blooms of moss, he heard plotting. Whispers carried upon the wind, strangely loud in the absence of fauna lilts. Baptiste’s brows furrowed. Instinct swung and hit him, hard and fast. The satchel tumbled from his fingertips, landing with a feeble thud, and a wave of magicka engulfed him.

He became invisible.

Or, well, almost invisible. The spell constantly refracted light, deflected it off and around his person; at the right angle, with the right scrutiny, the halo of his body would be visible.

As it turned out, they had no intentions engaging him. Footfalls hurried past, kicking nirn up and, from the bowels of forestry, they emerged as malice personified; a throng of individuals, mostly those of Nordic heritage, wielding a rainbow of weaponry. Their approach was far from subtle—just how they liked it—and, like a swarm, they descended upon this smaller group of warrior-likened folk, intending to strip flesh from bone, life from eyes.

Baptiste heard their war cries. It was hard not to. Admittedly, the sound of battle was far from unfamiliar to his ears. An ugly lullaby from his youth. He watched them flit outside the sanctuary of the forest, barrelling with all intents of a pack of wolves, and observed the way the warriors unsheathed their weapons without second thought. Clearly, they knew each other, and were at oppositions with one another.

Slowly did Baptiste approach as kisses of metal on metal filled the air. Again and again did their swords clash, spitting venom—sometimes coherent and sometimes gibberish—at the other. The farmer that’d been in converse with the warrior group, turned tail and fled. His legs were thin, his body scraggly; he were to be too slow for those young and taut with muscle. One of the forest-folk peeled away from the battle and hounded the farmer, a wolf unto a fawn separated from its mother.

Fuck.

Baptiste redirected and broke off into a sprint. His spell started to slip. Flakes of his person peeled free. He would’ve used telekinesis to pin the assailant’s feet unto the farm’s floor, but concentrating on a second spell while running was asking for a backfire… Thankfully, he was fast.

But was he fast enough?

[acuityfeed]

  “&– -Ugh- I was going to kill them. I have a gem to fill....” // @austerulous liked for a oneliner starter

[austerulous]

Eros. Hushed though it was, the name flashed on Farkas’ periphery. For a moment, he clung to it – but like any silvery, slippery thing, it did not remain within his thick-fingered grasp for long. It evaporated, escaping all recollection the moment that velvet voice tightened into a tone of stern indignation. It was a cold fury, razor-edged, delivered with absolute poise that was far from the lip-splitting punches thrown in Jorrvaskr.

A hundred was a great deal, Farkas knew, though he did not precisely understand the number’s weight and measure. His only point of comparison was the legendary Ysgramor and his Five Hundred Companions – but that was a hazy image in his mind’s eye, a great sea of faceless warriors. What was clear, even to Farkas’ unscholarly mind, was that a long line of his predecessors had been born squalling, blood-slick, and driven into their cradle of dirt in the time this seemingly ageless creature had been alive.

Farkas exhaled through his nose, emptying his lungs, rendering himself hollow in his defeat. A tongue was a blade, and his was dull. Although cowed, flayed by words, he offered no apology – instead he watched the vampire darkly, aware that they were now sealed inside the apothecary. Entombed, together.

“Bad bones. Bad joints.”

His lip curled wolfishly, revealing the pale glint of a canine. A bestial, instinctive response. When Farkas caught himself, he smoothed his expression into one that was more deadpan, less defiant. Being at the lower standing in his pack, he was well acquainted with compliance and contrition. This ancient man, with his perfumed countenance, likely thought of him as little more than a sulky, errant child.

“Knees, hips, shoulders, wrists. They’re worse in the cold, but ache even in summer. I’m tired of hurtin’ and poultices only go so far.”

Mirvon shambled off; though, his gangling legs served to only get him so far, allowing the nord's latter quip to grace veiled ears. A wince curled his features, his fingers, leather squelching as concern lapped eager at his thoughts.

"Eros won't like that," he murmured to himself, beelining for a room at the end of the stone-hugged wall. There he would lay low until beckoned back.

Indeed, did Erosandros bristle.

"You think yourself amusing, to slight my clinic. Yet, you have come here with intent, a hope, perhaps. Something that I ought alleviate or prevent. You are not a local, so I can only presume you came here with purpose; circumventing the healers that are stationed towards the front of the city heart is not an easy feat. You have heard of my skill, whether directly or in passing." A flourish of his hand, and the front door jittered and stiffened, frozen in place; shushing the danger of those who lurked just outside. Funny, how powerful creatures could see exposure as more threatening than one another. "Let me put things into perspective. How old are you, wolf? Late twenties? Maybe mid-thirties? I have lived a hundred of your lifetimes. I have been healing many of those years. Do not insult my integrity."

Olive hands flattened over the front of his black, double-breasted tailcoat, as though to soothe whatever hackles were raised by the comment.

"I reiterate: how may I help you today, sir?"

[nooklingposting]

I personally think Farkas has a crush on the player. Everyone just sees him as an ice-brain, not smart enough, and have done his whole life. Even some of the newer companions can be heard talking back to him. But we don't.

It seems like we're special from the start, he's nicer to us than any of other the companions right from day one. We see a softer, friendlier side to Farkas (eg: 'I hope I didn't scare ya' being his first concern after being surrounded by enemies) - we never really hear him be so friendly to the other members (think the training conversation with Torvar), and that's why we fall for him.

I think he'd be shocked if we chose to marry him. Yeah he shoots his shot, but like I said, he's used to everyone seeing him as an oaf. Then here we are, the Harbinger, showing him the same kindness and emotional investment that he gave us in the beginning. He deserves it.

I just think he's neat.

[mothzarellaman]

so a few days ago, i shared an image of miraak suddenly appearing near whiterun and beating a sabre cat to death.

this game, besides like. unofficial skyrim patch and a hair mod, is unmodded. he just did this.

but allow me to continue the tale through discord screenshots. A more proper retelling is below the read more.

So, I was deciding to walk across one side of Skyri

m to another, specifically in search of the Dragon Priest mask totem/holder thing. (I found it later but that's irrelevant) So I began the walk from the Serpent Stone to Falkreath. As I was walking, I saw someone fighting a sabre cat in the road. That someone? Miraak.

He's punching the poor thing to death, doing very little damage in the process because he's probably a limp noodle let's be real. It's unclear why he's here. And why he's punching the sabre cat. But he wins. And walks away.

So what do we do? We follow him. (We being me and Farkas). We cannot talk to him, pickpocket him, or damage him in any other way. No shouts, nothing. He is walking very pointedly along the road, to some unknown destination. Eventually, we see another sabre cat. And Miraak? Well, he locks in. Lightning goes flying as he kills it. No punches this time, just lightning. It's unclear why he didn't do this earlier. He is very aggressively shouting, to no effect. Farkas runs to help him.

Once its dead, he keeps walking. This continues for a while. Occasionally we find already dead goats. He loots them. I steal a goat leg from a corpse and he sadly walks away. I kill a goat for him. He throws a tantrum and jumps into the river. He emerges and he's normal again. We continue walking and eventually meet a group of revelers. They offer my Dragonborn (Pan) some alcohol. We say yes. Miraak? He doesn't say a word. He keeps walking. He fights a few bears. We have an immortal bodyguard, apparently.

Eventually, I realize we're heading towards Windhelm. So I wonder if he's trying to go back to Solstheim. Surely, he's going to go through Windhelm? No. He is not. He completely skips the bridge, and instead keeps walking, and eventually stops at the ice floes across from the Windhelm docks. He has not said a word.

if you read this far enjoy a screenshot and the meme it got compared to

[decidentia]

◈   @shellcrack  //  starter

Cutting through the resinous scent of pine needles, through the earthy notes of rotting mulch and fungus, came the reek of blood. Its coppery, metallic tang filled Farkas’ nose, strong enough to coat the back of his throat, to lie thick on his tongue. A red ribbon was what pulled him through the fringes of woodland, deeper into the forest’s feathered heart.

Mankind could not help but leave a mark. A desolation of tree stumps, like coarse stubble, greeted him as he approached the isolated homestead. Pens that had once housed livestock now guarded their remains. Putrid and bloated, the stiff-legged, round-bellied creatures lay in their own filth, oozing from every orifice. The cool light of Farkas’ pewter gaze traced the rims of crow-picked eye sockets, quick to focus on the door which hung open in dark promise. Blood formed a lacquer – so dark it was almost black – that drip-dried down the front steps, staining the grain and soaking into the pores of the wood.

This scene of humble domesticity had been the site of a slaughter. Farkas was no stranger to horror, but still he felt a kernel of dread sprout in his chest. Boots creaked and dove-tail joists whined as he mounted the steps, congealed pools crackling beneath his heavy footfall. Being both a monster and a monster of a man, he was too big for homely spaces; he was forced to duck his head to enter the cabin, the ruin inside reflected dully in his steel breastplate. Sparse furniture had been reduced to splintered kindling, and all was dusted by the ash and cinders that spewed from the cold fireplace. Shutters were closed, the only light that entered the space pushed in behind him, casting his shadow tall and broad.

A massacre. Bodies pulled apart. Two – Farkas counted – identifying them by the ribcages that yawned open like bear traps, vomiting their innards. Maggots writhed ecstatic in gnawed flesh while their blue-sheen parents buzzed black and fat, rubbing their hands together in filthy glee, feasting on the splatters of gore that painted the vaulted ceiling. At the stink, he closed a hand over his nose and mouth, that cloying decay softened by the leather that covered his palm. No lives to save here, no murderer to apprehend, not even an unspoiled larder to raid. He turned as if to leave.

And then he heard it. The softest of whimpers, the rapid tick of a frantic heartbeat. Heaped in a corner, gore-flecked sheets heaved and mewled. Farkas thought of a she-cat’s nest, of the helplessness of newborn kittens, all milky breath and dandelion-fluff fur. Through the tangle of torn linen, he glimpsed birch-pale limbs and wild brown hair. The shroud slipped lower, revealing impossibly wide and round blue eyes, glassy in terror, red-rimmed from long-spent tears. A girl.

Farkas approached, looming over her before he thought to make himself small, to settle onto one knee. He reached out a gauntleted hand, proffering it to her as though she were a kicked stray, a hag-ridden mare.

“Easy, child.”

[austerulous]

◈   @ramblingsofamoonwatcher  //  cont.

As Hithfaeril spoke, Farkas watched her lips.  To be sure he hadn’t misunderstood, to be sure he hadn’t misheard.  Dubbed Icebrain by his shield-siblings – for a reason, he supposed – he made efforts to focus, to take each word she uttered between his teeth.  Their hands remained linked throughout, hers tremulous as a wild bird held fast in a fist.  His forge-callused thumb swept over her knuckles again and again, politely ignoring the vice grip she had on him.  Poetic in speech as ever, Hithfaeril’s meaning was clear: she was with child.  She was carrying their child.

“By the gods…”  And again, more emphatically:  “By the gods.”

Everything he could have hoped for was before him.  Farkas kissed her and kissed her and kissed her, showering her mouth, the tip of her nose, her cheeks, her jaw.  The large hand not held captive in her own slunk down between them, settling low on her abdomen.  Somewhere beneath his palm, beneath the cream ripples of her nightgown, new life sparked in an undead womb.  He had seen Hithfaeril at her worst, when her body recalled what it would have been without the intervention of Orstun.  A cradle of rot, overripe and ruinous.  All the sweet-sour trappings of death.

It did not matter that Hithfaeril occupied a bosky place between life and death.  It did not matter that he housed a beast.  The last time they had been together, he had been drunk on the scent of her, spun to a new level of irresistibility.  Nothing had existed outside of them, no need was greater than that to have her on his tongue, pulled flush to his heat.  How gracefully she had indulged his affections, the roguish dance of rough fingertips tracing her waist, grabbing at her hips, palming her breasts at every opportunity.  They found themselves intertwined in the familiar hollow of her bed, at the kitchen sink, on mossy grass of the garden, with the scent of lavender in their noses.  Only when Hith began to tire, to drowse, did Farkas relent.

A fullness flooded his chest and squeezed his heart that, for once, had nothing to do with the wolf that ran restless in his blood.  Farkas drew back, just enough to rest their foreheads together, the mercury of his eyes pricked with tears.  He had not known if it was possible, had never dared to dream.  There would be time to fret later, to worry about the nature of his lycanthropy, about the likelihood of a body in constant flux carrying to term.  There would even be time for him to take a boyish sort of pride in the compliments she paid him for his appetite, his virility.  For now, he kissed her temple, whispered what he needed her to know against the sheet of her dark hair:  

“I will take care of you both, I swear it.”

[daedriic]

❈ ❰❰ @austerulous ─ 𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐀 // s.c. ❱❱

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ YOU WEAR THE NIGHT WELL. ❞ Many associate the shadows with thieves and assassins, forgetting that the hunters find just as much use in silence and darkness. ❝ Your quarry went west. It's probably reached the river by now. ❞ She'd seen the stag, a great best in its own right, rush through the bounds of the forest towards the plains. ❝ Something startled it. ❞

[whitegoldtower]

Skyrim Characters and their vape flavours of choice (someone put me down)

Ondolemar: either pineapple ice lost mary or the orange gummy bear lost mary. Dude is a posh roadman with his rolex, military shave, flawless skincare and designer tracksuit

Ancano: juicy peach lost mary or strawberry ice lost mary. He’s girlypop but will hide his vape because he doesn’t want to be made fun of for having pink on his person. Even though he’d 100% rock the juicy couture velour outfit and main as princess peach in mariokart.

Elenwen: coconut melon elf bar. Girlie would rather be sipping pina coladas in Alinor’s top resorts and spas. Her nails match the colour of her vape. Alternatively, she’d get the mojito elf bar thinking it would taste like rum. Disappointed when it doesn’t.

Serana: maryjack kisses lost mary or cherry ice lost mary. No explanation needed.

Cicero: the disgustingly sweet flavours like the cotton candy ice (pure fucking sugar) or the immensely artificial blue razz / mr blue lost mary. As if the little guy needs any more sugar in his system.

Teldryn Sero: buys the really shit knock off lost marys, and only ever gets flavours like ‘spearmint’ or ‘cream tobacco’ 😩 can’t handle having anything that doesn’t hit his chest like a normal cigarette, and will constantly complain about how much he misses smoking.

Vingalmo: will deny that he vapes with every fibre of his being but will freak out when he loses his cranberry raspberry cherry elf bar in the coffin lining. If there’s fruity fog coming out of one of the coffins in Castle Volkihar, it’s not ‘atmospheric ambience’, it’s Vingalmo hotboxing his bed.

Garan Marethi: has a heavy duty non-disposable vape and only ever vapes one flavour because it’s the only one he can stand: vampire vape blood sukka.

Neloth: also has a heavy duty vape but has these horrific mystery flavours like “jungle juice” or “pinkman” or “unicorn shake” and each new flavour he puts in the tank (without replacing any of the coils) is a worse, more burnt, more artificial smelling mess than the last.

Farkas: if it doesn’t smell like he wants to eat it, he doesn’t want it. Only gets flavours like “banana milkshake”, “caramel waffle” or “red velvet cake”